Infinite Diversities: Blurb Edition!
by Gentleman Bystander
Summary: Fictlets based mostly on the Infinite Diversities settings and mostly revolving around Trip and T'Pol as a way to put up all those "Oh, you know what would be a cool idea!" items that don't belong in any of the stories proper.
1. Chapter 1

**Legal Disclaimer**

Star Trek and all characters, creations, organization, and locations pertaining there-to are the exclusive property of Viacom, CBS, and Paramount. Use of said characters, creations, organizations, and locations fall under the aegis of the Fair Use Clause and are neither intended nor unintentional generating profit or revenue for the Author.

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**Author Disclaimer**

The story contains contextual and thematic elements that may not be suitable to all audiences. This book is set in a science fiction universe but covers matters of human interactions and relationships that may not be acceptable to all readers. Language and graphic descriptions of violence are common and if this type of writing disturbs you or is unsuitable for viewing by you or your child(ren)/spouse(s)/dependent(s), please do not open this work. This work is replete with refrences and allusions to romantic relationship and human sexuality as part of the natural process of human socialization and may contain strong sexual content and descriptions there-of. Refrences to suicide, drug use, alcoholism, religion, and politics are also contained here-in. If any of these subject matters are offensive or inappropriate to either yourself or your child(ren)/spouse(s)/dependent(s) please do not view my work as I will not be held responsible for posting material you may view as inappropriate after you elected to open and read it**.**

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**Setting Disclaimer**

This exists as a series of stand-alone blurbs meant to amplify certain concepts or ideas drawn from the Enterprise series as a whole and, specifically, the Infinite Diversities setting. That is to say, this is where I'll put all the bull that doesn't really belong in the story but I thought was just too much fun to pass up writing on.

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**Viewing Disclaimer**

This is the last one...I promise. This work is best viewed at 1/2 justification. You know, those goofy little links at the top right corner of the page opposite the genre/title link bar. Seriously...I mean it, this definetly reads better at 1/2, but don't let me force you.

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The heat of this place was definitely agreeable compared to the sort of tepidity she had experienced in the Northern California Clime that had been her first introduction to the biosphere for Earth. Why the Vulcan Embassy to earth had been built in such an area escaped her entirely, within the same territorial sub-division of the State of California there existed a desert that was a suitable simulacrum of Vulcan, the major city of San Diego lay close enough by to render the location a logical selection. The only thing that made this particular geographic and administrative territory unpleasant was the level of humidity. She was not even entirely sure why she had been tasked to come to the peninsular projection from the North American continent at all, Vulcan had surrendered in it attempts to guide, direct, or bully human progression when it became abundantly clear that it would be impossible due not only to human irascibility but also because technologically they were advancing at a rate that would likely have them overtake their neighbors within the half century.

Whiting Field Naval Air Station, Eglin Air Base, Cape Canaveral, it seemed like the entire Florida province was tied into the development of Military Command Starfleet's new warp five power plant. It was actually fairly remarkable that they had reached this point of development not even a full century after they first discovered faster than light travel and had done so with absolutely no outside help. Still, she wondered why she had to be exposed to these humans, surely it would have been more logical for a Vulcan her age to continue developing on her skill set and training on Vulcan itself or one of their few colonies. It was virtually unheard of to send an unattached female of her age to a planet as far away as Earth.

It was currently day four of the ten day conference and today was the first time since her arrival in Sausalito and her prompt shuttle hop over to Whiting Field that she had been able to avail herself of the local sights. She had not opted for the tourist attractions as human affections of that sort tended to be crass and insipid in her opinion. She was, however, finding the beach to be a strange combination of the familiar and the exotic, having taken the rather unconventional step of removing her shoes to experience this Earth sand on her feet and between her toes. Compared to Vulcan it was rough, coarse, much like she found most things on this planet to be. The Henderson Beach State Park was sparsely populated with beach goers, and she found she was not drawing a substantial amount of attention as she strode quietly along the ocean front. The knots of humanity she did see where mostly intent on their own business and she was prepared to experience and logically process the latent aesthetic pleasure of this place when he made eye contact with her.

How she had known the child was male was uncertain, perhaps because of the clothing selected for the child; humans still had a tendency clothe their children in a way that promoted gender norming and the lack of ostentation and shades used in the infants clothing seemed to indicate he was male. His unabashed willingness to stare not just at but, almost, into her also seemed like a decidedly male human trait. After making eye contact for a moment she looked away to continue onward with her constitutional, but she felt a strange sense of unease, almost as if being slowly unclothed, not by some lascivious assailant but rather by a being capable of seeing into her soul. Instinctively she turned her head to try to divine where the eyes were coming from to see the strangely knowing eyes of the human baby still fixed on her. She stopped again, making eye contact again, his parents and a sibling were about a dozen meters away, attending to some concern linked to the visit while the infant sat in the shade of a palm tree.

"It is impolite to stare." She commented dryly to the child, finding something intriguing in the clear and evident self confidence it displayed as he refused to take those twinkling eyes from hers.

A single amused and happy babble issued from the child's mouth as a smile added an additional layer of dimension to its face. The eyes seemed to take on a more pleased and mischievous element as a little giggle punctuated his nonsense aping of developed speech.

"You are completely unfazed by the concept of social propriety, aren't you? It is logical that you do not understand the concept of manners at your age."

He began to crawl towards her, moving forward a few feet before awkwardly pushing himself to his tiny feet, arms extended outwards towards her as he made a mewling sound, that quickly turned into more aped nonsense meant to approximate language.

"I am not your mother."

And it clearly did not care about that fact one iota as the piercingly blue eyes once again looked right into hers. An utterly illogical compulsion overwhelmed her, she _had_ to pick up the child and hold it. Scientifically and mathematically speaking, a convergence of events could be preordained as a possible set of contingencies and events were set into place as part of the larger unknown construct...among many races this was called faith or fate. She chose to view it as an imperative from the larger driving dynamics behind the universe, it was the best way she could write off the illogicality of her decision.

She covered the few steps between herself and infant quickly, the transition from sand to soft grass all but ignored and she found herself inexplicably entranced by the eyes more than anything. She knelt and gathered the child in her arms, lifting him as she stood, finding him compliant and almost assisting her in the act, seating himself against her in a way that facilitated the hoisting of his tiny frame. His eyes never left hers, fixed so unfailingly it was almost if, in those big pupils and blue irises she could see infinity while he stared into her katra. It was fascinating, exciting, and just a little uncomfortable; this was the way katra tel-tor, how lovers looked into one another. A being had never looked at her that way before, and she found a strange feeling of longing from somewhere inside her, almost like a pain deep in the core of her.

When the tiny hands came up to plant the little palms and slightly curled fingers on her cheeks she felt the strangely undeveloped mind, bristling with strange instinctive knowledge brush against hers. No, not a mind...it was his soul, and as she felt it; primal and raw but somehow knowing and complex, brush hers, it was almost as if it took a part of her with it. For a moment she could feel a wave of experience and emotion, a sudden and impossibly complex surge of feelings, as if the course of a life-time rushed past and through her faster than she could even begin to analyze the compulsion emotions of fear and confusion, love and adoration, joy and bliss, confusion and resentment, cherishing and passion, and finally unrestrained loss. And as that tiny face remained locked on hers she could sense the strange little consciousness, incapable of even thinking a real word, yet it somehow knew and accepted it all.

She didn't remember setting the child down, didn't remember walking back to the resort that served as her lodging. She didn't remember entering her room and climbing into the shower, didn't remember weeping in confusion and desperation. When her balance finally returned all she knew was that she would have to return to Sausalito too seek the assistance of a priest in achieving nelaya. There was one thing that T'Pol was certain of; she would never allow herself to open up to a human life this again.


	2. Chapter 2

**How did the infamous Harbinger scene pan out in the MCS Universe? Well here is part one. The second part will have slightly less innuendo, slightly more titilation, and of course my patent Sex disclaimer for added amusement.**

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"Please do not look at me like that."

It was a much softer tone than was typical from her, probably a good sign that her restraint was at its limit, the only real question was how would she come unhinged tonight? Usually when her voice was calm, labored, just a bit over a whisper it was a sign that her passions leaned towards the tender.

"Sorry."

And just like that...nothing. They continued working the nodes in each other as he tried to look anywhere but in her eyes. The moments his eyes flicked back they met hers staring right back into him.

"I thought you said you didn't want me lookin' at you like that."

"What is wrong?" She inquired, clearly not satisfied with his quick acquiescence earlier.

"You're tense..."

"How did you arrive at that conclusion."

He breathed out through his nose, a sound approximating a sigh, "Put your hands down for a second."

She complied, he reached down and tentatively took them in his, an act far too familiar in most situations, yet one she found a strange mixture of comfort and apprehension in.

"See how your fingers are curled? You're tightenin' your hands into fists, and your jaw..." His fingers came up near the neural nodes he worked along her jaw and neck, lightly running his fingers over the skin, "You've got alotta muscle tension here."

She said nothing, part of her had hoped that he had been staring into her eyes for another reason.

"Is it the Trellium?"

"You needn't concern yourself about that." She snapped in reply.

"T'Pol, you can talk to me, darlin'."

She didn't reply, just stared back for a moment, she wasn't sure what to say, how to reply, his eyes had made contact again and there was something undeniably familiar about the way he looked right into her eyes. She couldn't place the sensation, the disjointed memory that she couldn't quite access properly, almost as if she was remembering part of a dream. She just stared back, helplessly, feeling the subtlest twinges of anger that he could work this odd spell on her.

"Should I be goin'?"

She wasn't even fully in control of her hands as the fingers twisted into the familiar PT shirt. Her digits did the speaking that her tongue could not; don't go, don't leave, stay with me, don't leave me. More than just the temporal potential of leaving her quarters there was the desperate fear that he would leave her katra. She knew, could feel, could sense, could almost smell Corporal Cole on him, could see the desire in the Corporal's eyes when she looked at him. When Major Hayes had enlisted him to assist in the training regimen she had been surprised by the choice. It was then that she learned he was considered to be at master level in the Marine martial arts system. When he sparred with Corporal Cole she could see how the human female enjoyed the close contact, maybe allowing herself to be handled a little too readily. It was then she felt the overwhelming burning sense of jealousy.

Cole couldn't have him.

She wouldn't _let_ Amanda Cole have him.

He was hers and hers alone, and she would kill before she would let anyone else take him.

Hands came up to cradle her face, framing her cheeks gently.

"You can talk to me." He said gently, comfortingly, almost lovingly.

Those eyes, the hands on the face, a memory of something that happened thirty years ago on a beach...it was maddening but the memory of what it was eluded her. She could remember everything else, her early childhood, every mission, thousands of names, millions of faces...but not this one thing. Something about those eyes peering into her, almost looking straight into her soul seemed so familiar, something about the subtle sensations of the mind through the telepathic touch transfer, a realization that somehow, someway she had been in contact with this being in just this way before.

Katra-tel tor...

Soul mates...

She _could_ not lose that now, no matter what the consequences she would endure and face them, but she could not be separated from katra-tel tor, t'hy'la, k'hat'n'dlawa...it was the single most fundamentally distinct thing about their people; once that connection was made, it was not to be severed, no matter what. What should she do? What would she do as a Vulcan, what should she do as a human? What was it that would let him know, would make the connection?

Lips, of course...the lips.

Not to produce speech, but for that other purpose humans so enjoyed, a kiss. She had given him one once before, a chaste and quick act that had been at the conclusion of one of her...less violent...breakdowns. He just looked at her with quiet amusement, smiled a little and took his leave after his normal farewell, "You sleep tight, alright, darlin'?"

He had started using that particular label after witnessing and being privy too the breakdowns, the experience helping him deduce that she had much more emotional turmoil than she let on and that she was having pronounced difficulty processing it. That was the limit of his affection, save for the soft petting she had come to understand was meant to be reassurance and comforting. However, for her, the touching was far more intimate, far more stimulating than it was intended to be for a human. She believed she felt the attraction from him, thought she could sense it in his subtly restrained body language, but now she knew the truth. They shared a soul, as strange as it may sound; they were utterly dissimilar, polar opposites, she infuriated him, he drover her crazy, but they were clearly bonded on a level that was as undeniable as it was ancient.

So she locked her lips to his, she operated on instinct without the benefit of practice, training, or observation to see what she was supposed to do. Her brain quickly cross referenced every human movie she had ever seen where two humans kissed one another and began to contemplate whether or not to emulate that behavior. All those mental processes, however, were overwhelmed by a single immutable truth; it felt good, wonderful even, the thrill of the act itself was overwhelming and delightful in a way she was unaccustomed too. When she grew accustomed to being touched by him, she had found that injecting her dosage of trellium an hour before the neuropressure session would heighten the sensation of the intimate procedure.

His hands closed around her shoulders, pushing her away firmly, rejecting her. She attempted to pull herself in with more force but was unable to overpower him, unable to close the gap he had created and now looking back into his incredulous and disapproving expression.

"T'Pol, what has gotten into you?"

She just stared back at him, then digging her fingers into his shirt pushed off with her legs, managing to topple him backwards. It was a simple Suus Mahna rush, something she had been instructed in as a junior operative, and she was more than pleased that it had worked so successfully, she was just about to attempt the mount when she felt him shift under her, his hands releasing her shoulders to grasp the edges of her robe as his hips rolled to the side flipping her off of him and onto her back as he was suddenly above, her arms locked by his as he held her down with a combination of weight and superior strength.

"What's wrong with you?" He sounded angry now, the complete opposite of what she wanted.

"I thought you were attracted to me." She said in a quiet hoarse voice.

He released her and sat back, startled by the revelation. "Darlin', that's neither here nor there."

She sat upright, adjusting her robe slightly as she did, suddenly and painfully aware of the fact she was naked underneath. "Why? Why does that not matter?"

He looked at her with a frank but defeated expression, "Because it doesn' matter one way or t'other... regulations."

"You have skirted regulations in the past."

"Well, this'd be a lil' different." He drew his legs up into a lotus position as he rested his hands on his knees.

"How so?"

"Well, you're a cultural attaché, an' we serve on the same boat, darlin'. I figured you'd be the first one t'quote the regulations on that one."

Was that a tacit admission of attraction? She had to pursue it to find out if she had confused the human concept of sympathy, compassion, tenderness, all the platonic virtues, for affection.

"Then you are not attracted to me?"

He turned his head away, his expression soured with exasperation, "I didn' say that."

"So you are attracted to me?"

He turned his head back to spear her with an almost angry look. Of course, he believed he was being toyed with, or at the very least being utilized as part of some experimental process, "What if I am? Not like it matters one damn bit. I could be crazy about ya' and all it'd mean is you wouldn' have anything t'do with me anymore."

"Would that be something you would find unpleasant?"

He threw his hands up in a sort of hopelessly defeated gesture, "Ya know what, fuck it...I can't keep doin' this."

She half expected him to rise to leave, instead he rested his hands, palm up in his lap, looking right in here eye. "The first time I saw you in the cap'n's office in forty nine, I felt like I'd known you my entire life. Every time you did or said somethin' that should have pissed me off, I just kind of felt like it was part'a some game. I've spent the better part of the last four years tryin' to convince myself that I wasn't in love with you."

"Why did you attempt to hide it?"

His mouth dropped open in clear surprise at her response, "If you hadn't been dosin' yourself with trellium you'd have never let me lay a finger on you."

She could see what she perceived to be a flaw in his assessment and decided to exploit it, "Then what was your reasoning for the gift of the special soap?"

Months prior to the attack he had given her a few bars of oatmeal soap he had been keeping. Several prior missions had forced them into extremely close quarters and he had commented at the time that he thought the soap she used had a pleasant smell. It had been a rather ham fisted attempt at small talk on his part, and of course it had sounded slightly less than genuine given the human male proclivity for flirting.

"I thought you'd like it."

"So it was not because you wanted me to smell pleasant for you specifically?"

Might as well not stop being honest now.

"T'Pol, that time we were on Tituba's Lament for five days straight I still thought you smelled pleasant. I wanted you to have it because win or lose I do care for you as a person, didn' have anythin' to do with how I felt about your romantically."

Very well, that hadn't been what she had expected, even at the time she have perceived the act as flirtatious on his part.

"You know what, none of that matters a lick...why would you do somethin' like that just because you thought I was attracted to you? Hell, I'd have figured you'd have tossed me out on my ass if you had suspected I had a thing for ya'. But what's more important here is what were you tryin' to accomplish? Just because I'm attracted to you doesn' mean you hafta reciprocate, you gotta understand that much at least."

"We are katra-tel tor, Trip."

"Okay, my Vulcan is a might rusty..."

"We are soul mates, we are meant to be together."

His expression remained skeptical, but slightly more concerned now, "T'Pol, I think its time I left, you're not thinkin' straight darlin'. The trellium always does a number on you, and I try to help where I can but you have to know-"

"We are, Trip. When you look in my eyes, I can feel it, it is like I have known you since before I ever met you."

His expression was not any less skeptical. "T'Pol-"

"How long have you been dreaming about me?" She cut him off again, and his voice caught, startled by the question.

"What do you mean?"

"The Vulcan woman you dream about, how long has she been there?"

He paled visibly, as if profoundly disturbed, perhaps even frightened, "I have never told anyone about that..."

"How long?"

"As long as I can remember."

"Do you understand now?"

His reaction was patently human, do not accept anything, always continue to question that which you do not understand, attempt to deny it. "No, damnit, I don't understand...you're s'posed to be gettin' married to that...what's his name...Koss fellah."

"I cannot bond with Koss, I am bonded with you."

"That's-... can't be possible."

"I can feel it, you are my t'hy'la, my katra-tel tor."

"T'Pol-"

"Trip, my feelings for you extend beyond mere attraction."

He sighed softly, eyes lowered, then lifting them to look right at her with a strange sadness there that cause her heart to seize, "You're not gonna feel that way tomorrow. Once the trellium wears off, you're gonna look back at everything we've said here and think how stupid it all is. When that happens, I'm not even gonna be able to be your friend anymore."

She felt as much as saw the wave of sorrow from him, the kind of consuming sadness rolling in like an ankle high tidal shift, unmistakable but muted. The very fact that she could feel it...

"Does my friendship mean that much to you?"

He shrugged in a somewhat helpless way, "'Fraid so."

Very well, she would allow things to take a natural course and not try to force things. She had begun to suspect they had bonded when she noted that she could sense his emotions of frustration, fear, anger, amusement, and adoration specifically as they pertained to her. At first she had just believed she was picking up on visual cues until she felt an overwhelming wave of fear during the last Xindi attack when shots from an attacking Reptilian craft came dangerously close to the bridge. She experienced the exact same emotional response when he witnessed her first bout of screaming hysterics. Furthermore, she found that she did, indeed, experience a great deal of affection for him. Her heart raced when he touched her, she felt at east when he was near, she found that she looked for him specifically in the mess hall or after duty.

"Perhaps we should just continue the neuropressure session." She opined, hiding her ulterior motive.

"You sure that's a good idea knowing now what you know?"

"Yes." Her reply was even and candid.

"Alright then, fourth posture?" he rose to his knees, prepared to begin working the nodes in her lower abdomen.

"That would be agreeable." And now she could play her trump card. Rising she undid the sash tying her robe and let the garment slide of her unclothed form.

Trip instinctively snapped his head away, "Jeeeezus! You coulda' warned me!"

"Why?"

"Well, you're...not...you're..." He sighed, "You're as naked as a jay bird! It's gonna be kinda hard to do this with my eyes closed."

"Do you find my nudity embarrassing?" There was the subtlest lilt in her voice, she was teasing.

"You don't?"

"Not when I am with katra-tel tor." She replied, stepping closer, "you could always reciprocate."

"That would make you more comfortable?" His voice was tinged with sarcasm.

"Perhaps it would make you more comfortable."

He stood upright, grabbing the waist of his PT shirt, "Alright, fine!"

He ripped the shirt off over his head, tossing it with agitated abandon across the room, then hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear jerked them down, stepping out of the garments with first the right foot then the left.

She had to be mistaken but she could have sworn she heard him say, "This'll scare her out of the water."

"I do not understand what you mean...scare me out of what water?"

His face once again shifted from subtly agitated to unvarnished fright tinged confusion, "I didn' say anything."

"I heard you, you said 'this'll scare her out of the water'."

"I didn' say that..." He paused, almost as if some compulsion towards honesty had gotten the better of him, "I thought it, but I didn' say it."

"Are you still skeptical that we are bonded?"

He frowned, hands going to his hips as he craned his neck forward to look her right in the eyes, "Alright...what am I thinkin' right now?"

He was certain that is she became aware of his current thought patterns she would become far to embarrassed to continue this little exercise in craziness. He allowed his eyes to go once of her nude form, taking in the nuance and details in a way only the series five augmentee brain could; she definitely looked very good naked. His brain began compiling an approach plan, an SOP for sex, a TO&E for some good old fashioned love making. He could do things to her that logic would preclude and, if she was wired like most humanoid females, would blow her mind.

Her eyes went wide and her face took on a greenish tone, a sign he had come to understand was their equivalent of blushing. The worst part was now he could feel himself starting to get turned on by the idea of it. He had been sexually attracted to T'Pol at first glance, and the more vague and complex emotional attraction had started almost a half second there-after. There were times after an argument he had the most colossal hard-on he had ever experienced and she had become something of his preferred mental pornography for situations where the tension reached a point that it required manual release.

"See, not so nice is it? Bein' able to get in other people's heads? You're not gonna necessarily like whatcha find."

"I find the idea, agreeable." She replied in a choked voice.

"What...?"

"Your thought process, I would find your administration of that routine, agreeable."

"Wha-...okay, what was I thinkin' then, huh?"

"It would be less desirable to describe it when you could simply do it."

"You ain't in your right mind, not even a little bit." His expression was almost manic, a huge grin on his face punctuated by worried eyes.

"There is nothing compromised about my mental process."

"Bull and-or shit, darlin'." He crowed.

"Ask me any question."

Alright, fine, they could play that way. "What is the effect of a wavelength moving away from a relative position?"

"Red shift, ask me something complicated."

"What is the prevailing mathematical theorem behind time travel?"

"A trick question, time travel is an impossibility." Her tone was mildly condescending.

"Says you..."

"Says the Vulcan Science directorate." She chided.

"Alright then, favorite cut; breast or thigh?"

"I don't eat meat."

"What do I think is your most attractive feature?"

She stopped, arched a skeptical brow at him, her mind already chewing on the elements of probability and which secondary sexual characteristic was statistically most likely to be the choice.

He smiled again, almost as if he had forgotten their mutual confessions, forgotten the fact that they were both naked and less than a meter apart, this was just another one of those fun debates with T'Pol in his mind, "It's your ears, ya' goofball."

"Where a bond like ours exists, it is logical to see to its completion." She took a half step forward.

He chuckled sardonically, "Let nobody say Vulcans don't know how'ta sweep someone off their feet."

"I want you, Trip."

"You can't tell me that then change your mind tomorrow, you realize that, right?"

"Vulcans mate for life."

He arched a brow back at her, not so much skeptical as perhaps amused by the idea, "Life, huh? Hmmmm..." He stroked his chin if faux-contemplativeness, "I think that sounds just fine."


	3. Chapter 3

Standing in front of the monastery, the slightest breeze seemed to chill her to the bone. She had put it off far too long, had hoped...prayed that the symptoms had not been pon farr. As days rolled onwards and the symptoms grew progressively worse she began to pray for a miracle, an illogical, irrational, against all odds, miracle that would deliver her from the impending hyperthermia; the fever of irrationality that could only be sated by traditional and ancient Vulcan vices. There had been rational alternatives available. Of course kal-i-farr was the most rational way to solve the problem, and she was reasonable certain her betrothed would have jumped at the opportunity to complete their marriage then ease her through her first Plak Tow.

She couldn't explain why, couldn't arrive for a single rational explanation for why she felt such an intense loathing for him, though. There was no logical reason...his only failing was, perhaps, his willingness to demonstrate his affection for her. His family had status, he was considered particularly gifted in his field of work, his genetic soundness was a certainty, he demonstrated a solid capacity for logic in most matters...yet she knew, somewhere, almost in her bones that he was not meant for her or, rather, she for him. The blue eyes still tormented, teased, called to and seduced her. She did not know why or how this element had invaded her psyche, but the blue eyes came to her in her sleep, in her meditation, and in recent years she found that she had begun actively looking for them. They couldn't be the eyes of a Vulcan, or at the very least, not a logical Vulcan, perhaps a V'Tosh Katur, because no logical Vulcan would ever look at her the way these eyes did.

She wasn't sure, but at least part of her was certain she wanted to not survive this if the blue eyes wouldn't come to save her from the fire in her blood. The priestesses came for her, guiding her up the stares as she shook softly, alternating between rattling chills and impossibly hot fevers.

"You have waited too long to seek aid, young one." One of them said, taking hold of her right arm and elbow to assist her in scaling the remaining steps.

"There is no logic in trying to deny the fever, child." The other said softly, taking her left hand and shoulder.

The two priestesses both demonstrated a kind of softness of voice and manner that was unusual for Vulcans but, perhaps, necessary for those enduring the ravages of pon farr. In their own capacity as priestesses they had helped hundreds of Vulcan males undergoing their pon farr while the priests had helped scores of women just like the one they were assisting into the temple now with their blood fevers. If they had to guess they would assume she was in her late forties to early fifties, only a little less than thirty years their junior and everything seemed to indicate this was her first time. Vulcans who had experienced Plak Tow never allowed themselves to progress this far before seeking assistance if they were unbonded or separated from their mates.

High Priest K'Vor was waiting for them at the top of the steps, examining their charge to determine which of the priests would be serve to satiate her need. K'Vor had served the temple for one hundred thirty years having begun as a lay-priest at the age of fifty two. Despite his advanced age he still had respectable vitality and the powerful physique that was expected of Elmuvak-Shaukaush to pacify out of control males and females in the throws of Plak Tow and to assist the priestesses from their uniquely trying bouts with Pon Farr, exacerbated by the bombardment of unresolved passions from helping dozens of males through theirs. It was know among those within the temple that K'Vor had sired at least one priest and two priestesses during his time as lay-priest and priest. His stern countenance was often confused for surliness, a perception he cultivated among the younger lay-priests and priestesses but he was, in fact, a very compassionate individual who considered the seven year cycle to be a curse that it was their sacred duty to assuage.

"She clearly waited entirely too long." He spoke in his rumbling voice, grasping the young Vulcan's face to look in her eyes, assessing her condition, "Very unfortunate for her. Her suffering was pointless." He lifted her chin so she could look in his face, "You should not have waited, my child, you only managed to harm yourself. There is no shame in surrendering to the need, do you understand?"

"Pla-kur ak." She whispered in reply.

"Blue eyes?" K'Vor arched a brow, "What do you speak of, child?"

Her eyes focused on the elder, her body shaking uncontrollably, "Pla-kur ak wilat?"

For whatever reason she was speaking in a Shiric dialect, Golic was the standard dialect for the entire Vulcan culture, so her insistence on using the unique pronunciation elements of Han-Shir's dialect was odd.

K'Vor looked at the priestesses, his brow crawling upwards with confusion as he looked from one to the other, "Do you know of what she speaks?"

"Skalan's eyes have been described as having a shade that sometimes appears to be blue." The priestess on the right, T'Pen, declared with an almost lackadaisical tone.

The high priest nodded, slowly, "Very well, I will alert Skalan to make preparations to attend to her need."

* * *

"She is barely rational." V'Rel muttered flatly, "she is likely past the stage of plak tow, I am relatively certain she has already suffered some level of brain damage."

Skalan shook his head, wrapping the robe around his waist having undergone the ritual bathing quickly out of necessity. V'Rel showed a comforting level of disinterest in his nudity. He had, after all, helped her through her pon farr two years prior as was one of the requirements of this monastic life. This was one of four temples devoted to the treatment of the blood fever. His only requirement as a priest was to remain physically fit, keep his emotions properly suppressed but adequately enough developed that he could remain rational during plak tow, and not allow logic to cloud practicality. The practical was not always logical and logic was not always practical, in order to succeed at their discipline that had to understand that there were moments where a maniac was preferable to a Kohlinaru. The physical aspect was, ironically, the most distasteful part of the lifestyle; the loose nature of the mating cycle was out of necessity, to lose Vulcans to a biological necessity was foolish, but the strength a priest was expected to display meant a lifestyle of hard physical exertion and a diet that facilitated it. He, and the other priests, routinely left the temple to hunt the flesh that supplemented their diets and lead to their pronounced size.

"What else do we know about her?" Skalan inquired as he tied the wrap around his waist and began the elmuvak.

Tulon leaned back against the wall, arms folded, "Her name is T'Pol, daughter of Solan and T'Les. She serves with the ministry of intelligence as did her father. Her mother teaches at the science academy. She has clearly spent a great deal of time among humans."

"What caused you to arrive at that conclusion?" V'Rel inquired, taking the oil pot and pouring it evenly across Skalan's broad shoulders before beginning to rub it across his back in a way that was at once very familiar and indifferently practiced.

"Her hair does not conform to a style common or acceptable among our people." Tulon replied with his evenly disinterested voice.

"It found nothing terribly impractical about it." The priestess countered.

"The shade and length...it does not conform to common Vulcan style, perhaps if she was an ascetic, but in that event it would likely be less carefully tended too." The other priest replied.

"How peculiar." Skalan intoned.

"I am of the opinion she has attempted to mate with a human." Tulon continued.

Both V'Rel and Skalan arched critical brows at their colleague, the idea was illogical and, perhaps, just slightly obscene. Skalan spoke up first, "What leads you to that conclusion?"

"Was she not inquiring about the location of 'blue eyes'?"

"I fail to see how that is correlative." V'Rel admonished.

"Earth of course. Humans are carriers, some of them that is, of a recessive trait that causes blue eyes, it is caused by a mutation in their DNA and is often paired, genetically, with fair or golden colored hair."

"Skalan's eyes at times appear blue." V'Rel countered.

"And at other times they appear gray, green, or hazel depending on the prevailing light conditions." Tulan retorted with an extended finger to highlight his point.

"That is true, the apparent color of my eyes does shift based on the conditions of lighting." The priest replied continuing the anointing process.

"Well that would certainly explain the issue. A human would be incapable of helping her through pon farr." The priestess declared, folding her hands into a towel.

"Their minds are certainly far too primitive." Tulon declared with a solemn nod.

"I will remind you, Tulon..." The rumbling voice of high priest K'Vor broke in, "that when I first became a priest at this temple humans had only just begun reaching into space...now their ships range from here to Rigel and their soldiers help garrison this world. It is best not to underestimate their 'primitive' minds."

"While their capacity for scholastic pursuit is, indeed, admirable and their level of technological adaptation pushes the accepted progression curve, I still believe it is safe to assume their minds are not sufficiently advanced to even simulate the rudimentary elements of a mating bond produced by plak tow."

V'Rel cocked a brow, "From what I have been lead to believe they are all in a state of borderline plak tow anyway."

Skalan allowed a rare display of emotional abandon as the corner of his mouth lifted above the line of his lips, "And we are not?"

V'Rel's complexion greened visibly, "No. Our process is completely different."

"By necessity..." Skalan prompted.

"Exactly, by necessity, we contain our base responses, we behave in a fashion that is logical." The priestess continued to admonish.

"But you are saying that we _do_ indeed have base responses."

K'Vor spoke up again, his presence, size, and rumbling voice belying his 186 years of age. "You imply that desire is a base instinct and is not, in its own right, healthy, even logical."

"High priest, did Surak not say-" Tulon began but was immediately cut off.

"No, he did not, as much of his writings still remain lost too us. Remember, Tulon, that Surak was not the first of our people to embrace logic, he was simply the one most chose to look too. The road that Surak put forth for our people was not the first, and almost certainly will not be the last, it is, however, the road we walk now. Every component of the mind is what makes a being who they are. This includes emotions and instinctive responses that they or others may considered distasteful. It is for that reason that they must cultivate and understand those elements as they, perhaps more than any other element, contribute to the uniqueness of that being." V'Kor admonished evenly.

Tulon was not rebellious or even belligerent, but he was young and his introspective debates almost boarded on the defiant as he constantly questioned the established order. V'Kor had, time and again, pandered to the trait, often debating the young Vulcan. Those who were aware of the unusual development of life within the Elmuvak-Shaukaush temple knew that V'Kor was actually the second forefather of Tulon and some surmised that there was an element of dotage occurring.

"But high priest, you are certainly very logical." Tulon countered his voice betraying a hint of confusion at what sounded almost like V'Tosh Katur rhetoric.

"I did not imply that Surak's path is not the best one for Vulcans currently, I simply understand that there is further development necessary in his ideology and that, perhaps, someday our people may learn to control ourselves while still embracing the other elements of our psyche." The high priest arched an amused brow, the pristine near white of his eyebrows contrasting sharply with his deeply tanned and lined face. "Regardless of our beliefs, this does not change our duty. Do you know whom the statuary in the main hall of our temple depicts?"

"It is Valdena, is it not?" Skalan answered.

"Correct, the Elmuvak-Shaukaush has upheld this duty since long before the awakening, our mandate is older than Surak and, perhaps, older than logic. Now, we will fulfill our duty and yours specifically, Skalan. There is a young woman to whom you must attend in the most dire way." V'Kor declared in a patriarchal tone, "She is both mentally and physically fragile at this time and requires a gentler touch than plak-tow usually lends itself too, do you understand?"

"Yes, high priest."

"Do not allow the meld to deepen, take the upper-most layer of the fever only, it will be necessary for you to maintain full control."

"Yes, high priest, I understand the mandate." Skalan replied again.

* * *

Skalan entered the cell quietly, his eyes fixing on the Vulcan woman shivering in the corner. She was attractive as their standard of beauty went, and she was very clearly in a very advanced state of hyperthermia, there would likely not be the time necessary for him to begin to mentally process the effects of plak tow through a surface level mind meld, instead he would have to begin this treatment using nothing but his own mental disciplines to evoke the correct responses in his own body.

He reflected with some amusement that suppression of arousal was the instinctive norm for most Vulcans, it took more effort to produce arousal than to tamp it down. Instinct was more complicated than advanced mental process, how utterly backward and wrong it seemed at the moment. The secret of their art was to simulate passion without actually allowing passion to occur; beguile the mind of the individual they assisted into believing they were actually mating, that they were with their t'hy'la and not just a temple priest or priestess.

He removed his robe, upper tunic, and lower robe then crossed to where she sat huddled in the corner of the cell back against the wall as she shook and rocked back and forth. "Come to me, T'Pol." He spoke in a soft tone, holding out a hand to her, allowing his instinctive want emerge creating a flush in his skin and a surge in his groin.

She shook her head, slowly at first and then violently. "Pla-kur ak, du fam."

He stepped over to her then knelt beside her, "What is this blue eyes of which you speak?"

"Pla-kur ak glantau nash-veh."

"Can you speak to me in the Golic dialect?"

She continued to shiver, her face flushed almost totally green and her lips contradictorily pale. "You must take me to him."

"Who? Whom must I take you too?"

"I..." She halted, "do not know..."

Barely rational, V'Rel had not exaggerated one bit.

"I am meant for him." She spoke again, voice quavering haltingly.

"The one with blue eyes?"

She made no attempt at reply.

"Is this one to whom you feel obliged human or Vulcan?"

Nothing...

Very well, there wasn't time for this, she needed to mate immediately or the damage could become irreparable. Still, he had to at least reach some sort of resolution for her particular fixation.

"Is your mate unavailable?"

She stared back at him blankly.

"Are you betrothed to another?"

The blank stare persisted, then she lowered her head, "Yes..."

"Then we should contact him so he may attend to you."

She shook her head at this, desperately and emphatically, he had seen this before. More than one female overtaken by pon farr seeking to find some outlet other than kal i farr to resolve the need. Allegedly there was more than one male that took the same route. If they, in their cloistered lives, knew this fact, it had to be widely known among other Vulcans, and if such was the case why did the tradition of arranged marriages persist? It was logical to believe male would seek our female and vice versa even without cultural tradition as a rigid framework in which to do so.

Then again, he would not now, nor likely would he ever have a mate. His pon farr would be slaked in the temple and he would persist in this role until his body no longer was capable of fulfilling the requirements of the station. At that point he would become a sage and teacher. But in the immediacy of the situation...

"Come, we must resolve your plak tau before your fever gets worse." He moved to lift her upright, to guide her over to the thin mattress on the stone slab of the cell in which she had been sequestered.

Her eyes went wide, a look of terror on her face as she divined his meaning and what his presence entailed.

"No!" She shrieked, hands and feet shooting outwards to try to ward him off.

This was a first for him...

"T'Pol, we must attend to the fever or it could become fatal." He answered calmly but loud enough that she could clearly hear.

"No! Don't touch me! He'll know!"

Skalan allowed an expression of concern and distaste cross his face, this was going to turn problematic. In all likelihood she would be instinctively willing to copulate and fulfill the demand of her biology, but it was likely she mentally would not accept it. The laws regarding consensual and non-consensual sexual contact and the traditions and cultural institutions underpinning the practice were embarrassingly underdeveloped among their people. It was, again, no secret that many Vulcan women found the process of helping their mates through pon farr tedious and, in the worst situations, traumatic. Vulcan males were rarely tender, even less so when the blood fever was on them. Part of their mandate was to train males, who bothered to seek knowledge in the regard, how to better control themselves during the fever, how to let passions other than rage and feral lust take control during the seven year cycle.

But then there was T'Pol...and she was definitely going to require a far gentler touch than even he was accustomed too. "Please, see reason." He extended his hand again.

"No!" She screamed again, pushing away at him, feebly, without focus or precision. "He'll know!"

He closed his left hand around her right wrist, wrenching it clear enough of her head that he could bring his hand up, placing his thumb just below her lower lip his index finger next to her eye and middle finger on the temple.

"My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts."

She froze, eyes wide with fear, shocked by the fact that he was performing a meld, the stigma had lessened to some extent in the past two decades but there still existed a strong undercurrent of distrust towards melders in Vulcan society.

Ah, there it was, her mind was laid open, the fever eliminating any potential resistance on her part.

"Who is your pla-kur ak? Show him to me." He ordered, calmly, evenly.

Her lips moved in time with his, murmuring his words back to him, but all her brain produced for him was the memory of two eyes, large black pupils like consuming voids ringed by a swirl of slate blue, indigo, and an almost turquoise shade. Open, focused, direct, lacking as much in pretense as they were in shame.

"What more can you show me?"

"I do not know." Her reply was plaintive, distraught. She was consumed by this compulsion, this memory with nothing further to develop her recollection.

There was clearly some conditioning that had occurred, Skalan had heard of a procedure that involved memory suppression, but had never seen or experienced anything pertaining to it. But now, he was having to deal with it first hand. Part of the oath of the Elmuvak-Shaukaush was to never force themselves upon those that sought their aid.

The problem was, she needed the help, she didn't want to die and it was not logical for her to do so. Some Vulcans could survive the fever, but the trauma of prolonged hyperthermia was always catastrophic. So he would have to manipulate the situation, delve deeper into her privacy than was prudent or respectful, but it would be the logical course of action.

He slid deeper into the memory of the eyes, the other elements and stimuli that had formed the memory remaining just beyond his reach, the maddening frustration in her own mind of a moment in time she could only brush but lay just beyond her reach was almost overwhelming. He pushed into the memory, deepening the meld, something that he never did, it presented its own unique set of risks.

There...

Just for a moment...

Holding the child...a human child...staring back into her/his eyes.

The intensity of the gaze, the strange understanding that lay there, almost as if the human infant had laid claim to her right then and there.

A soft hissing sigh left her as he body noticeably relaxed. "Pla-kur ak."

She surrendered, her mind subsumed in the split second of memory as the fever seemed to spike hotter still, but she no longer pushed away, no longer resisted. In her mind it would be her Pla-kur ak that was taking her and not a Vulcan priest. Skalan found the idea strange, but it was what she needed and that would suffice. Two, maybe three days would be sufficient to slake her need, he could feed her the memory again during that time. Sadly, she would likely forget it all once again once the fever had subsided, and all that would be left would be the blue eyes torturing her thoughts.

* * *

**[!- Author's Note -!]**

**Based on certain timeline elements, it didn't seem logical (oh God...I'm turning into a Vulcan!) to assume that T'Pol's first Pon Farr happened in her 60s, especially if one is to consider that her T'Les gave birth to her, most likely, in her 50s. It could be safe to assume that T'Les had experienced Pon Farr before becoming pregnant, and...yaddah yaddah...screw the reasoning, I just thought it would make for an interesting blurb. This version would take place in approximately 2140 and would be her first pon farr.**


	4. Chapter 4

Shameless, scandalous, improper, illogical...all of that and then some, and yet she found that she didn't really care. Of course, it wasn't nearly so compromising when nobody knew about it. Trip was still asleep when she slipped into the guest bed next to him, the normal quilt folded up in a chair and just the sheet draped precariously across his groin and thighs, it was fairly clear that he found the room warmer than his usual comfort level. He was not, fortunately, sweating though as she was relatively certain he would be embarrassed if he had and the odor would certainly be noticeable to her mother. Of course, there was another odor, more piquant, more distinguishable, less easily disguised and more ubiquitously identifiable should it be present in the sheets.

She wasn't _supposed_ to have been home.

Mother...

When they had arrived she had been suppressing a building want for him she had been experiencing for hours before they had arrived in orbit above Shi'kahr. His behavior had an adequate Vulcan sensibility, staid, suppressed, stolid. As such the crew of the _Khru-Hayal_ seemed to be utterly unaware that they were mated. But in those moments alone, in the bunk they shared he had let words do what he would not allow his body to do. The words burned into her mind, the eroticism in how he spoke them more than what was said.

She couldn't hold back her desire any longer when they arrived at the house. Her mother would be at the Science Academy...since father's death it was not uncommon for her to return to the house only long enough to meditate and take a meal before returning to the institution. With her mother away there would be nothing to stop them, to prevent them from letting their passion overflow. Vulcan appreciation of beauty extended beyond just the visual, sapid, and auditory; the bed that had occupied her room as a child and young adult had always been very soft, comfortable, and splendidly appointed.

Far..._far_ superior to the bunk in her quarters...universes apart from the narrow, uncomfortable mattress in his.

She wanted to feel it, all of it.

The brush of those sheets across her naked flesh.

The luxuriant give of the mattress.

And the things he could do while on it...oh the things he could do...

She had lost control, she couldn't stop it anymore.

Standing the courtyard she had invaded his space, craning her neck upwards, wanting the catalyst in his lips that ignited her need, her want. She let the words out as a sigh, her confession that she needed him. His head turned suddenly, and the door opened revealing her mother, her expression confused and disapproving.

"Sa-komihn vi?" She asked of her daughter, her disapproval readily apparent.

"Be' dvin nash'veh, vu ko-fu." His words had spared her from having to answer and also had the added effect of shocking her mother. He spoke Vulcan with his characteristic twang, his pronunciation somewhat impaired by the fact, but his grammar was excellent.

Her mother cocked a brow at the human, "I had not expected that you would be the one answering a question directed at my daughter."

"I'm faster on my feet." He replied with a amused expression.

She was, indeed, flustered, her face flushed as her brain was tripping over itself trying to find a suitable reply to her mother. She was not _supposed_ to be here, she had counted on the fact that she would be finally able to have him alone, all to herself, no one for kilometers in any direction.

"I had not expected that you would be home." She muttered to her mother, trying desperately to regain some composure.

"Clearly."

"Guv-tvi-rivak-tor vesh'lof du,?" Her mother once again directed the question at her.

"Isha, ken-tor." He once again answered in her stead, "Should I leave so you two can have this conversation without me round to hear it?"

"Who are you precisely?" The elder Vulcaness asked, flushing slightly in embarrassment and exasperation.

"Mother, this is Commander Charles A. Tucker the third of the U.S.S. Enterprise." She had finally been able to form the sentences on her own.

It took hours of on and off conversation for T'Pol to even begin explaining a rudimentary reason that he was with her. Of course, if her mother were awake now to catch her slipping into his bed she would be at square one again. His eyes fluttered as he breathed in, shifting a moment to snake his powerful arms towards her, wrapping her up in them and pulling her close to his warm body. From the sensation of his groin colliding with her hip and thigh through her pajamas as he pulled her close, she knew he was naked and found the idea more exciting.

Even asleep he knew it was her, and he mumbled her name into her hair as she leaned back into his body. Nestled into right arm, the hand resting on her left shoulder while his left hand snuck under the edge of the pajama top to rest on her stomach, the sensation of the skin of finger tips against her bare flesh causing a spark of contentment in her that bled back into the swirling inscrutability of his sleeping mind.

She reached back with her left hand, resting it against the skin of his adjacent thigh, sighing his name back to him.

He took another deep breath, and his eyes opened, waking as he registered his name being said.

"Hey, baby." He whispered the words, ever conscious that they were not alone in the house.

She rolled in his arms to face him, kissing him softly then looking into his eyes with a kind of sad desperation.

"What's wrong, darlin'?" He cooed softly, reading the need but not entirely able to put it into context.

"I wish to engage in sexual behavior." She said, her words tying to be Vulcan while her voice was fighting to be a woman.

His eyes widened a bit, becoming clearer as the revelation shocked the sleep away, his a dusting of mirth worked its way onto his face, "First of all, darlin', there are about a half dozen ways you coulda said that better."

T'Pol arched her brow, her only response.

"Like, 'make love to me' is a good one."

She kept her brow arched, "Love is an emotion."

Okay, he wasn't going to pick that fight, he felt like he knew the score anyway, "Okay then there's 'lets have sex,' which still would have been better. Or maybe, 'fuck me'. That gets a response." He grinned mischievously.

"Human profanity is illogical."

"Okay, then there is, 'wanna fool around?', that's a goodie."

"I fail to see how the connotation applies."

He could feel himself getting aroused in spite of himself, this wasn't really the time _or_ the place for this. The very fact T'Pol had seemed to believe it was, was strange and unprecedented. He was trying to formulate what to say next...sometimes all it took was a kiss and a touch to get the idea across, it was also his personal favorite. Before he even opened his mouth, T'Pol's hand dropped to gently stroke his groin while she softly kissed him.

The one-two punch.

Double tap.

Her other hand then came to rest on his chest, her fingers curling against it.

That's not fair...

He hadn't even consciously thought about that part...the three things that, when in combination, could utterly eradicate him. This was a different animal entirely...a failure to stop drill, two to the chest one to the head, Mozambique drill, Djibouti shooty...whatever. He was putty in her hands now.

"That's cheatin' darlin'." He finally managed to say when their lips broke free for a moment.

"I believe I have made my desire known."

"Your mom is just right down the hall." He said softly.

"She is asleep."

"Might not stay that way...if we..."

"We can remain very quiet."

He reached up and stroked her cheek, arching his brows as he did so with a kind of mental defeat on his face, "Is this common for Vulcans?"

"I have no data to draw from in that regard." She paused, understanding what he actually meant, "Trip...I am a sapient mammal...I find the act of sexual intercourse enjoyable."

"So it ain't for my benefit?" He sounded skeptical.

"You were asleep."

"They say men dream about sex a lot." He countered.

"You were not."

He smirked a little, "You sure are goin' a long way to say what you're actually thinkin'."

"What am I thinking?" She challenged.

"You want me."

She closed her lips tight, her eyes giving him that vulnerable look again...cultural inhibition contradicting every action she was taking and forbidding her from saying it.

He gave her that same amused reproving look, he wanted to hear it, want the verbal codification that was so important for humans but realized she would not and likely _could_ not give it. Actions speak louder than words, but sometimes it was nice to have verbal assurance...putting your money where your mouth was required your mouth to at least engage.

God...this had to be hard on her.

He reached down, his hand coming to rest on her side, fingers gently caressing the flesh where the pajama top had managed to work its way up, exposing her narrow abdomen. This time he leaned in to kiss her, the sheet coming away and leaving him completely exposed. There was something alluring about the sense of vulnerability. She was clothed...he was not, there-in lay a sense of defenselessness, like she was in command, the master.

He lifted himself to his hands and knees, moving to perch himself over her, looking down at her like a predator on its prey...she wasn't the master, he was...a barbarian taking his spoils. Her hands came up, narrow fingers touching his sides, the left hand playing along the scar tissue, intrigued by its texture and the realization it invoked.

He belonged to her as surely as she belonged to him...she was his prize, this barbarian human...brilliant, brutal, patient yet passionate. Warrior-scholar, scientist-killer...primal and real like the ancient Vulcans. She reached upwards with her right hand, feeling for his left ear, needing to feel the roundness of it to reassure herself of the truth. The light from T'Khut streaming in through the window silhouetted his naked form as she looked down the plain of his chest and stomach to the quite overt display of his arousal level dangling between his legs.

Her chest was heaving, taking deep breaths, almost as if the thin atmosphere wasn't enough for her. No, that wasn't it...she was losing control, he knew this drill all to well. She had dosed herself with Trellium daily for close to four months, her control still hadn't fully recovered. It was his responsibility now to keep her teetering carefully between breakdown and release; either would be to violent on their own. His right hand came off the mattress as he shifted his weight to his left, lowering to his elbow as his fingers crept down the front of her pajama pants to her upper inner thigh.

"We're gonna take this very slowly." He whispered to her.

She nodded in reply, her hands touching anywhere they could, at once inviting and repelling in a ubiquitous display of Vulcan bipolarity.

* * *

T'Pol awoke, momentarily confused as to where she was, why she could feel the sheets on this bed against the naked flesh of her pelvis. The top of her Pajamas still covered her chest, but had ridden up her body to expose her stomach and lower thoracic areas. She felt a cool viscous fluid between her legs and inside her...and the scent...it was overwhelming.

Of course...she remembered now as she felt a strange buzz of activity in her mind. Trip's semen was still inside her, a strange feeling she had not yet experienced before. In the expanse, their sexual encounters had always included almost ritualistic bathing as they cleaned each other from one another's bodies after the act. One two occasions he had used a prophylactic to avoid leaving his fluids inside her after the act of sex. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as it was over, but the place where Trip had been was now vacant. She had always assumed the speed with which he had been able to go about cleaning up after their interludes on _Enterprise_ was out of necessity. She quickly grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around her, knowing that it would be a hunt to locate her pajama bottoms in the dark room. She stepped into the hall, hearing a faint sound from the Kitchen area and made her way down the old familiar hallway to the cooking area through the sitting room and dining area. Trip was standing behind one of the counters, a pair of athletic sweat pants the only thing covering his form as he quickly and meticulously sliced gespar on a cutting board.

"Trip...what are you doing?" She asked in a hoarse whisper.

"It's zero four twenty eight, idn't it tradition for the guests t'prepare breakfast?" He spoke back in a hushed tone.

"Why did you not wake me?"

He smiled softly, "Yer cute when you're sleepin' darlin'."

Her eyes softened towards him, an approximation for a smile, a cue that indicated she found comfort and satisfaction in his words, the gentle adoration.

"What's with the sheet?" He asked as he meticulously cut one of the Gespar in half. along it's length.

"I could not find my pants." She replied with a candor to override the subtle embarrassment.

"Well, you might wanna hurry up and get to that...your momma just woke up."

Her eyes widened.

"Either that or you've gotta burglar breakin' in...either way that might not be the best clothin' choice, baby."

"How do you-"

"Coded for superior sensory perception, darlin'...now scoot unless you want yer'momma knowin' what we were doin'."

T'Pol craned her neck forward, "Should you not also consider further garbing yourself?"

"It's hot at hades in here, and given the reception I got yes'erday I'd kinda prefer to have breakfast fresh'n ready for th'lady of the house. Now git, unless you don't particularly care 'bout gettin' caught, in which case, drop that thing and grab me 'nother bowl."

T'Pol sighed, then turned and began heading for the room so she could locate her discarded garment. She was just about to make it to the door when she froze in her tracks, her mother's brow climbing.

"I am certain Commander Tucker is not accustomed to all aspects of Vulcan tradition, it is excusable that he not rise to assist with the preparation of breakfast."

No use trying to misdirect or lie when it would be found out in moments.

"Commander Tucker is already preparing breakfast." T'Pol squeaked.

"Then why are you entering the room in which he slept?"

"I am going to retrieve a shirt for the commander, the temperature is warmer than to what he accustomed so he deigned not to wear one."

"I see." her mother replied with a nod, "And what is the purpose of having the sheet wrapped around your waist?"

T'Pol felt herself flush involuntarily...not that she ever voluntarily flushed, even when she enjoyed the sensation it was not deliberate. She considered letting it all out...telling her exactly what happened in all its unvarnished, lurid, wonderful, fulfilling, enchanting glory. The words were primed...ready...she could say them with no shame at all...except there was shame and instead of declaring, _Mother, commander Tucker and I are lovers, prior to his rising to prepare the morning meal we engaged in sexual congress and I was unable to locate all of my clothing._

But instead...

Silence. Uncomfortable silence. Unbearable, shamed silence.

Her mother said nothing further, just stared back at he daughter, her eyes saying she knew what had happened...and they did not approve one bit.

"I see." She finally said, then stepped past, leaving T'Pol scrambling for words mentally, she felt the need to beg...plead in Trip's favor, but she couldn't say a word before that wordless disapproval.

T'Les entered the kitchen considering what she would say, how she would phrase her disapproval, how she could ask him politely to leave without her anger boiling forth. When she caught sight of him it took a moment for her to mentally adjust to the fact that she was not looking at the back of her late husband. This human was certainly taller, broader in shoulder and chest, but the musculature; the tone and definition, the tell-tale strength that lay there was undeniable. Memories of fingers on skin...when making love with him or performing neuro-pressure, the familiarity and comfort she took in touching him reawakened the dull ache of longing she felt for her dead mate.

He turned, pouring a small amount of oil from a decanter into a pan, "Muhl gad-keshtan sanoi."

His appearance had managed to distract her from her initial anger by eliciting the overriding sadness that having lost her mate still caused her. His greeting was polite, not necessary or expected among Vulcans but to wish one a good morning was suitable human and a fulfilled the role of respecting one's host.

"My understanding of human speech is sufficient to carry on a conversation." She said, her voice slightly choked by the emotions she was having a hard time suppressing while still tired from rising.

"I apologize for my...uh...appearance...I'm just not quite accustomed to the heat here bein' this persistent."

"What do you mean?" She inquired, his comment had been disarming, the issue with the persistent nature of the heat was odd.

The oil in the pan sizzled and she watched as he deftly lifted, one at a time, four halves of gespar cut along their length and set them flat side down in the pan. The sizzle intensified as the juicy fruit flesh came into contact with the hot metal of the cooking vessel. "Well, ya see, ma'am, I'm from a pretty hot state m'self...and I did some time trainin' at Twenty Nine Palms and have been on some pretty arid worlds...but most of the time it cooled off at night. Guess I wasn't expectin' Vulcan to stay hot all day and all into the night."

The aroma coming from the gespar was intriguing, enough to make her forget that he had touched the fruit with his hands to lower it into the pan. He quickly turned his attention to the cutting board where he was quickly and deftly cutting a yon-savas into small cubes and quickly scraped the contents into a bowl with the edge of the knife. His movements were confident, practice, with a hint of flourish and bravado to them, it seemed he knew his way around a kitchen. Lifting the pan he plucked the gespar halves from the still steaming surface with a pair of tongs and placed them on a plate, and poured the contents of the bowl into the same pan. As it went in, she spied the yon-savas and pla-savas with the pulpy juice of a sash-savas which immediately started a low grumbling hiss in the hot pan.

"I believe it is logical that one should prevent themselves from overheating by whatever practical means." She finally replied, she was willing to let his dress and even the fact that he had handled the fruit go, but... "What I find questionable is your behavior towards my daughter."

He did not seem to react, just frowned as he stirred the fruit in the pan with a wooden spoon, "I 'spose that would be somethin' to take issue with."

She arched a brow, "You make no attempt to deny it?"

"I was raised not t'tell a lie, ma'am." He arched his own brows, "doesn't mean I always behave the way I was raised but when it matters, best policy is just t'be honest 'n take yer lumps."

"Do you intend to explain yourself?"

He picked up the plate with the seared gespar, sprinkling a small amount of salt on the fruit then putting the plate in the stasis unit and turned back to the pan, stirring the contents slowly once again, his face and neck reddening, "Not sure what there is to explain, ma'am, the conclusion is pretty much fore-gone."

"You could explain why you did it." She said evenly.

He looked further away, "I guess you could just say that humans are as lousy as our reputation suggests." He paused, took a deep breath, "I'll take my leave just as soon as I've got breakfast finished."

"No!"

T'Les turned to see her daughter, now dressed in the pajama bottoms standing in the entrance to the kitchen. Her face was distraught, eyes wide.

"It's only right, darlin', this is your momma's house."

"Then I will come with you." T'Pol declared emphatically.

T'Les turned to face her daughter, "T'Pol, you heard his words."

"I wanted what he did to me, I asked him to do it, he tried to convince me it was not appropriate." She fired back, her emotions penetrating her control.

"That's enough a'that, darlin'. I knew the score, time I paid the piper."

"Does my daughter speak the truth?" The older woman inquired, looking at the human with brows arched.

"Neither here nor there, ma'am. I knew better and it's yer house so you get t'make the rules." He replied evenly, stoically, as he stirred the pan's contents, steam rising from the fruit inside, liquid reducing for the purpose of creating a sauce of some sort.

T'Les looked at the human male critically, his behavior was respectable, as was his deference towards her as lady of the house. Still, the sexual behavior was disturbing, especially considering her daughter's betrothal. During pon farr it could be excused if she was forced to seek sex from another male, but with a human and doing so for purpose of recreation or personal...

Koss would be incensed, she was certain of that.

"Do you intend to return to Earth?" T'Pol asked the commander.

"Dunno, figured I might go ahead and see the sights then head on back to LaGrange two...'spose they could use a competent engineer on hand."

"I do not wish to remain here without you, Trip." She countered, hands clamped behind her back, brooking a look of ire from her mother.

"That is out of the question...it is long past the time you should have completed the kal-i-farr with Koss."

Trip remained silent, turning the burner off on the stove and pulling the braised gespar out of the stasis unit, transferring it to a pair of plates then spooning the contents of the pan onto the slightly chilled gespar flesh. He placed one of the plates before T'Les, then another further down the counter looking to T'Pol then gesturing towards the plate with his head. She returned his look with incredulity, her expression almost begging him to argue against her mother's assertion.

"Eat yer breakfast, darlin'." He said softly.

"What about your meal?" T'Les inquired.

He wiped his hands on a towel then placed it on a rack near the counter, his voice was calm, frank, not at all what T'Pol expected given the situation. "I can see that you ladies have some things that y'all need to discuss. I'll just go ahead and get packed and make arrangements for transport to camp Kelly, 'spose they could probably use a grease monkey around the garrison for a couple'a days, the Revenge'll be makin' the hop back in about four days so they can arm up for the run out to task group Deguello."

He paused, "Will...I see you at LaGrange two?"

The confidence in his voice died suddenly when he considered that this might be the end of it all. He hated the idea, but was prepared to accept it as just part of the nature of the universe.

"You will see me before that, I will accompany you to Camp Kelly and seek passage aboard the U.S.S. Revenge as well." She looked at him with fiery determination in her moue, her voice emphatic.

"Don't be silly, darlin'. You have an obligation, it's only fair you settle this one way or another." His words were velveteen, warm and affectionate. T'Les could sense his adoration from the words alone, his body language, the genuine way in which he spoke them. But underneath it all she could sense his terrible sense of loss. "Eat your breakfast, baby."

"You should heed the commander's advice, T'Pol."

Her daughter stared at her with no small measure of despair and anger on her face. Her ability to control herself had always been taxed to the limit by her parents, she abandoned it more quickly in their presence. T'Pol's father had, at times, pandered to the affectation, and had subsequently manage to elicit the reactions far less prevalently. T'Les was not beginning to wonder that if her daughter's reactions were not because they were, in fact, so similar. While T'Les did a superb job of suppressing her emotions, she knew they still consumed her. Her husband had been, at times, overtly passionate and had strained her capacity for restraint many times. Such was the nature of their bond that she had enjoyed the mercy of being able to simply let go and let his own passions wash over here and her own were caught up the current.

More than one morning she had entered this very kitchen to the sight of her husband's shirtless, and on a few titillating occasions, utterly unclothed, form preparing breakfast. Her memories of him still burned, still ached, the wound had not and likely would not ever heal. Part of the reason she had avoided remarrying was out of realization that no mate would ever be more than a pale shadow of what she had lost. Of course, there was a logical reason for her Solan's passionate nature, his family descended from one of a small group of clans that elected to remain behind during the awakening despite their unwillingness to accept logic. Passion had been stifled and suppressed among his small sectarian culture, but never snuffed out. They made pretense at being Vulcan, or rather, acting like what Vulcan considered to be correct, but they still married for love, among their own they did not hide their feelings. They were the original V'Tosh Katur, fiery blooded like the Vulcans of ancient times. Their angers burned brighter, passions hotter, and their love was more soothing than cool water in the desert.

"I understand your feelings, daughter." T'Les said evenly, a new softness in her voice, "But obligations must be discharged, it is our way."

"I will not be separated from him. We are katra tel-tor."

T'Les turned to face her daughter, "Do not make that assertion lightly."

"I have known for some months now, he is k'hat'n'dlawa."

"A will summon a priest...if this is true..." T'Les sounded mystified, her voice constricted by the weightiness of her daughter's confession.

"How about both of you eat your breakfast." Tucker interjected.

"Commander Tucker, my daughter's assertions are...weighty. It is logical that you remain until a priest can be summoned to determine if their is credence to her claims."

He nodded, slowly, evenly at that, "Yes ma'am, that makes sense.." her mood abruptly changed, "but for now, it would make more sense if you ladies...ate...your...breakfast."

Something about his tone did not allow for further debate. Without further comment she lifted the tines next to the plate and cut off an edge of the braised Gespar the dark colored sauce reduction with chunks of fruit still in it coating it like a glaze. She was not prepared for the flavor and was momentarily surprised by how vivid it was. The process of searing the fruit had managed to bring out more of the natural sweetness while the barely perceptible hint of salt further compounded the tanginess in the fruit's natural acidity. It was pleasing, she had never experienced savas prepared in such a way.

"Commander Tucker...are you are skilled in repairs as you are in the kitchen?"

Tucker folded his arms across his bare chest, "That depends on whether you hate mah cookin' or not, I 'spose."

T'Pol similarly cut free and edge of the Gespar, spearing a few pieces of the cubed savas and running the slice of gespar in the reduction before lifting it to her lips. Her eyes went wide and she turned her face to Trip's. He furrowed his brows, mouthing the words, _That bad?_ to her. She shook her head slowly, chewing slowly, savoring the taste.

"I would say you are more than adequate in that regard." T'Les replied.

* * *

**[!-Author's Note-!]**

**Just to clarify, I write these as they come to me, which means the order is not necessarily going to be chronological, it will skip all over. Also, good news for the TCD and Battletech crowd, I'm finally clearing the "I can't figure out how to finish this damn chapter" block.**


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